


Banned From The Kitchen

by Adegolas



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Humour, Jeff can't cook, Lucille is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adegolas/pseuds/Adegolas
Summary: Jeff is an exceptionally awful cook. But when his wife is ill, it is left to him to cook for himself and his young sons. He can't be that bad can he?





	Banned From The Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story. They rightfully belong to Gerry and Sylvia Anderson. 
> 
> This story is set when Lucille is still alive, thus the boys are still pretty young. I have put their ages at:
> 
> Scott - 8  
> John - 6  
> Virgil - 4  
> Gordon - 2  
> Alan - still a fetus (roughly 3 months along)

Jeff dreaded when this day would come as it was bound to happen sometime. And that sometime happened to be right now. 

He hadn't even thought about it until now, not until his mother reminded him about it. He had been so worried about Lucille and the baby, that it hadn't even entered his mind.

The thought of what was to come made his stomach flip. He was going to need some help. Since Lucille was hugging the toilet every other minute, she was out of the question. Who else could possibly help him out? His mother? No, she was busy with her knitting and baking group and he couldn't possibly ask his neighbours for help. It was far too embarrassing. 

So he had to call in the cavalry and cajole his sons into helping him. He couldn't even begin to imagine the mess that they would make, but it wasn't like there was any other option. 

"Boys! Get down here", he yelled. 

The thumping of small feet was the only warning he got before a crowd of four little figures dashed down the stairs. 

"We haven't done anything dad", his eldest declared, looking rather confused as he surveyed his younger brothers. They all seemed to be just as confused, wondering why they had been called. 

"I know. It's nothing like that. Your mother isn't feeling very well. She put some things in the fridge to cook and she doesn't want them going to go to waste, so she asked if I could cook something for the all of us. But I'll need some help. That's where you come in", Jeff proposed. 

"Um...no offense dad, but you can't cook to save your life", Scott muttered anxiously. 

"Yes, well, we'll just have to see how it goes, won't we?", he knew he didn't sound very confident. 

Scott saw the task as a military operation. For an 8 year old, he was pretty organized and knew exactly what he wanted. He had decided that everything had to be in its rightful spot and nothing should be out of place. 

John thought it would be best if he didn't get involved, that way he wouldn't be told off by his mother - or grandmother - for making a mess in the kitchen. If you had asked Jeff what his opinion on that was, he would say that his second eldest was extremely wise. Jeff had learned long ago that you don't anger a woman without serious consequences. He remembered quite clearly what had happened the last time he annoyed his wife. He had to sleep on the sofa for a week, even though he whined and pleaded like a puppy to be let back into bed. He was sure his wife found it extremely amusing at the time. 

Virgil thought it was wonderful. The idea of mucking around in the kitchen had him bouncing around in excitement, thinking he would finally be able to make something artistic with the kitchen utensils. Jeff shuddered as he vividly imagined the mess that his second youngest would create. 

And his youngest - Gordon - was just excited to be making a mess. The more mess the better. That was his motto. 

Hopefully his next - and final - child would take after his two eldest sons, but right now, he was hoping he would take after John more than the others. His second eldest was a quiet little thing. He would quite happily curl up on the sofa next to you and read a book for hours. 

Somehow, it was decided by both Scott and John, that it would be better if his two youngest children were nowhere near the kitchen. They had a nasty habit of getting themselves into trouble - especially Gordon. Jeff wholeheartedly agreed with them, even if he was the one who mentioned having them in the kitchen in the first place. But now that he had properly thought about it, he didn't want to imagine the type of trouble the two would cause. 

He was just about to check on the chicken in the oven, when his thoughts were interrupted as he heard the beginnings of an argument in the living room. 

"God give me strength", he muttered to himself, "I'm going to need it". 

He managed to stop the argument before it turned into anything worse, like a temper tantrum. He was about to reprimand them again when the pungent smell of burning meat reached his nose. He spun around and raced back into the kitchen, swearing as grabbed the oven door and wrenched it open. He coughed harshly as a plume of smoke rose up into his face. He swore again as he pulled the baking tray containing the chicken out of the oven and rested it on the kitchen work-surface. The chicken resembled that of a lump of black char. 

"What is that smell?", a voice sounded behind him. 

Jeff winced as he looked at the smoking remains of the chicken. "Flame-grilled chicken?", he asked, not entirely sure what to call it. 

He turned as he registered movement from the corner of his eye. The raised eyebrows he received from his second eldest son would have been hilarious if it were any other time. He cleared his throat in embarrassment as his son looked at him with horror. After seeing a chicken like that, he would be just as horrified. 

"We don't have to eat that, do we?", John whispered, looking at the black smoldering pile with uncertainty. 

"Um, well, we don't have any other meat. But there are plenty of vegetables", he smiled, not sure whether he was trying to reassure himself or his son. His smile suddenly fell off his face as he instantly whirled around, facing the oven once again. His face paled as he pulled out another baking tray. He grumbled as he shook the tray, jostling the long black-looking shards. He dumped the tray onto the work-surface beside the chicken and cradled his head in his hands. 

"What is that?"

"Those...were the vegetables", he admitted, even though it was muffled by his hands. 

"Oh. I take it were not having vegetables either. What else is there?", his son asked apprehensively. 

Jeff straightened up as he thought through what he had prepared to cook. "There's still the stuffing, roast potatoes and gravy", he divulged. He took a deep breath as he reached back into the oven and looked at the remaining items. He sighed in relief. The roast potatoes were cooked to perfection. He caught hold of the tray before he turned around and started to cross the room. 

"Watch the....", but it was too late. His father tripped and let go of the tray containing the roast potatoes as he seized the work-surface with his hands. "...dog", John finished hesitantly. 

Jeff closed his eyes and let his head thunk down onto the work-surface. He didn't have to turn around to see the dog happily hoovering up the potatoes as he could clearly hear her. "There goes the potatoes, looks like we're just having stuffing and gravy". 

"It'll be okay", John stated adamantly as he hugged his father. 

Jeff smiled wearily as he wrapped his arms around his son. He would make the most of it as his second eldest didn't like physical contact, even with the family. He sighed as his son finally extracted himself from his side. 

"You want sandwiches instead?", he questioned. 

John contemplated the idea. "Yeah", he responded before he reached around his father to grab five plates. 

Jeff stretched towards the oven and shut the gas off. There was no point in continuing to cook the stuffing if there was nothing to eat with it. 

"Could you go and tell your brothers that we're having sandwiches?", he asked, looking at his son. 

"Okay", John replied before he trotted off. He returned a few minutes later with his older brother in tow. 

"Why are we having sandwiches? I thought we were having lunch?", Scott asked as he peered up at his father in confusion. 

"Change of plan". 

They worked as a unit as they made a selection of different sandwiches. Jeff cut each of the sandwiches into four small triangles and placed them all on plates. He then grabbed a bowl at the same time as he opened and tipped a pack of crisps into it. He, along with his two eldest sons, managed to transport all the food into the dining room in one trip before he called for his other sons. Once his two wayward sons arrived, they tucked into the sandwiches with gusto. 

After they had all finished, Jeff gathered the plates and gently slid them in the sink as he filled it with hot soapy water and then proceeded to washed them. 

"What the hell is that", Lucille asked, making him jump, as he had not seen or heard her come into the room. He watched as she stared at the lump of chicken skeptically, like as if she expected it to jump up at her. 

"That's the chicken. It's just a little burnt". 

"A little burnt?", her voice rose an octave as she stared at her husband incredulously, "that is a little more than burnt. It looks like that model volcano John made last year for school. I'm half expecting it to erupt at any minute". 

"It doesn't look that bad", Jeff grumbled as he stacked the plates on the wash rack. He cringed when she looked at him in disbelief. 

"I don't know why I thought you would be able to cook dinner. How the hell did you managed to burn the chicken until it was nothing but ashes?", she questioned exasperatedly, watching as he walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. 

"That's not true. It look nothing like ashes, it just happens to look like a large lump of charcoal", he objected, turning to face her. 

"You know what? I'm officially banning you from the kitchen", she declared, promptly slamming the kitchen door in his face. 

THE END


End file.
